Formidable
by HelsinkiAshes
Summary: "I am not the first person you have looked at with the galaxy in your eyes, and you are not the first person I have stared at with a mouthful of forevers. But, I will write novels to the scar on your nose, and a dictionary for all the words I have used trying to find the perfect way to phrase how nice it feels to have finally, finally found you." (Daryl/OC)
1. Preface

Formidable

Blood bubbled from her mouth, leaking tears down her chin. Her glittering eyes had dropped their guard with him long ago, revealing the gentle caressing memories and the sharp, burning nightmares. A cough racked her chest and more blood spattered her lips. She gasped a breath and smiled, bloodstained mouth and teeth tiredly making him fall more in love with her.

"I am not the first person you loved.

You are not the first person I looked at with a mouthful of forevers.

We have both known loss like the sharp edges of a knife. We have both lived with lips more scar tissue than skin.

Our love came unannounced in the middle of the night.

Our love came when we'd given up on asking love to come.

I think that has to be part of its miracle.

This is how we heal.

I will kiss you like forgiveness. You will hold me like I'm hope. Our arms will bandage and we will press promises between us like flowers in a book. I will write sonnets to the salt of sweat on your skin. I will write novels to the scar of your nose. I will write a dictionary of all the words I have used trying to describe the way it feels to have finally, finally found you.

And I will not be afraid of your scars.

I know sometimes it's still hard to let me see you in all your cracked perfection, but please know:

Whether it's the days you burn more brilliant than the sun or the nights you collapse into my lap, your body broken into a thousand questions, you are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

I will love you when you are a still day.

I will love you when you are a hurricane."

Tired eyes gleamed up at him, with pain and crystalline tears lurking in the majestic depths. Hair turned to blood and freckled face became as white as the pin-prick stars.

"I love ya',"

She coughed again, blinking, feeling a wave of strength.

-Clementine von Radics -Mouthful of Forevers


	2. Chapter One

"Formidable, formidable,

Tu étais formidable, j'étais fort minable,

Nous étions formidables,

Formidable,

Tu étais formidable,

J'étais fort minable,

Nous étions formidables."

[Wonderful, wonderful,

you were wonderful, I was so pathetic,

we were wonderful.

Wonderful, wonderful,

You were wonderful,

I was so pathetic,

we were wonderful]

"Someone shot this place up, took 'em out execution style," Daryl muttered, nodding to the lifeless elderly couple laying on the bed in the room next door. Rick sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. Shane looked around warily, eyeing Carl and Sophia who appeared to have found a cheap pack of cards. T-Dog leaned against the door-frame, eyes averted from the forceful chips in the wall in front of him. Glenn swallowed, gaze flickering from chip to door frame, posture tense. Daryl fidgeted, the idea of people taking lives from the elderly for their own chances of survival grating on the last remaining moral-ties. They were beginning to sort out a game-plan for the run to Fort Benning when a delicate thump shuddered the only closed door in the secluded upper-level hall.

Daryl was on his feet immediately, creeping towards the deep blue door, crossbow loaded and at head-level, finger placed carefully above the trigger. Rick followed him, knife drawn while Shane and T-Dog went to the rest of the group, Glenn standing by the staircase, poised to move quickly.

Daryl jerked the stiff handle, yanking open the door and allowing a wave of thermal blankets, pillows and crisp, bleached white sheets. He angrily shoved them away, into Glenn's awaiting arms. Rick lowered his knife, peeling back a small pile of linen, the quivering ball of blue fabric and thick auburn hair. Daryl shoved the remaining linen off the body, before unkindly hauling it out of the closet and dropping it at Rick's booted feet.

"Hurt me and you'll regret it," a pained voice snarled, the threatening tone quivering vainly much like her body, that in the dim light of a torch Glenn held was stained with clotting blood and dirt. Rick knelt down next to the huddled girl, his officer training never allowing him to ignore someone who needed the attention. Daryl scoffed, shifting his weight to the other leg.

"We're not gonna hurt you if you don't hurt us," he promised, "What are you doing here?" He asked, voice calming and warm considering the circumstances. The ball unwound itself, loosening her hold on her knees, it revealed a pale face, lip dripping blood and a deep red bruise over a cheek. Daryl inwardly flinched -if there was one thing he would never do, even in this world, it was hit a woman. The girl was bloodied up, hair matted with blood and shirt sticking to her back with it, however, her jaw was set and the largest, greenest, mirrored blank eyes Daryl had ever seen glittered dangerously, daring them to give her a reason to defend herself.

"Hiding," her voice croaked, a clear English accent blooming through the shoddy dry voice. Daryl scoffed -just what they needed. Another helpless mouth to feed. Rick's brow furrowed.

"Did you see who did this?" He asked, the girl flinching. Her face, contorted with pain, managed to scowl in a horrific painting of blood and feral anger.

"Some bastards came in for the supplies, must have been a couple of days ago. I was here looking for help -they found me in some god-forsaken ally getting the shit kicked out of me by the same lot that came through here," she muttered, eyes looking off to the side. "There's nothing left, I reckon. Not nowhere," she grimaced. "Stay here if you want... just leave me be," she sighed, slumping over. Glenn moved closer, dropping the pile of blankets and sheets he held.

"You're the girl the doctor wasn't sure about," Glenn announced, squinting at her face. "The one who was loosing her vision -are you alright?" He asked, and the woman, although her eyes searched in the general direction of the voice, they landed two feet away from where Glenn was crouched. Rick's eyes widened and he cast a glance at Daryl, who in turn was looking at the woman with an unreadable expression, blue eyes furrowed with something akin to pity or admiration, with little of the expected exasperation.

The car thrummed beneath her thighs, shoulder trembling with the steady pace Rick drove at, following what T-Dog had told her was a 'Big ass RV'. Carl and Sophia seemed to be thrilled that their parents and peers had decided Darcy was good-willed and pathetic enough to take along with them as the resident sob-story and guilt-trip-subject, both kids happily chattering away to her, describing their exploits and adventures. Carl was in the middle of describing the gruesome story of a dead deer with it's entrails being gnawed on by a 'walker' when Sophia, who had gone quiet, spoke up, breaking through the normalcy-facade.

"It's so dark and lifeless," the little girl (who had been described to her by a soft-hearted Carol) mumured, and the low conversation of Rick, his wife Lori and Carol paused, all eyes flitting out to survey the ruined city of the dead, even Darcy, who could see nothing more than a swirling black mist averted her gaze to the window, for once glad she lost her sight.

It had been dwindling in one eye, ever since her job exploits ended her in a Russian cell, rough solitary confinement, hot torture and tough beatings being her life for four years. Her left eye, after a particularly bad session, was blurry, only slightly, but living with it got under Darcy's skin. She had two years back in the field, a top field agent for MI-5's section D, before word broke of a secluded province in China breaking out with some foreign and new disease that sent agencies, countries, hospitals and scientists reeling. The original plan to contain to to the province and keep it from breaching India, and Guan Dong, China's most populated area, failed, within two days America was broadcasting emergency lines, Europe was winking out like a light and Australia flurried to prevent any more citizens entering with extreme precautions.

Her head of section, Harry Pearce, sent her with top-priority status and private circumstances to Georgia the fifth day of chaos, but she was too late. The private air strip designated for her landing was abandoned, all living things driven away by the stuttering moans and rattling groans, littering the vicinity. The pilot fled and the single other soul on the flight with the pilot and Darcy freaked, slipping and ending his own life accidentally. Darcy originally regretted and felt guilty over hauling his still warm carcass at the on coming corpses, but after seeing the cities ruin and fleeing people she forgot about feelings, hunting through the streets on foot for a safe place to bunker down while she figured out how to get to the CDC, knowing that it would retain maximum security.

In an ally on the outskirts-turn-city district of Atlanta, three men jumped her, taking what they wanted from her bag and leaving her with old scars opened, new wounds and two eyes seeing in thick hazy blur, decorated with puddles of black.

Darcy was jolted from her clear-as-daylight memories by the car stopping, doors opening and closing, talking and a soft hiss of steam. Sophia and Carl came to Darcy's side, each taking a scarred hand, and despite Darcy being far from a people pleaser and social butterfly, she had to grasp at their hands and focus her attention on remaining upright and alive in the new paradigm of earth. Carl and Sophia lead her towards the group, Sophia softly describing their surroundings, a cluttered highway setting the scene.

"We can find all kinds of stuff here," the rough voice Rick explained belonged to Daryl, their resident redneck hunter spoke. His voice was punctuated with scuffling sounds and the scrape of plastic over the bottom of a car boot.

"Alright, check out the cars, someone will be on watch. Bring back your finds here while Dale fixes the RV," Rick instructs, and the group begins to move off, light tugging at Darcy's hands encouraging her to move off between the cars.

"This is a graveyard," Lori's voice chimed, halting the group in their tracks. Darcy squeezed her eyes shut and wandered, shaking her head, feeling marginally better than yesterday, after Carol and Lori sat her down in the RV just as they breached the cities limits and cleaned her head, cutting away some of the matted bloody locks that were unsalvageable.

She blinked, the dark mist lightening with the sunlight.


	3. Chapter Two

"I figured out that joy,

is not in your arms"

The waves of heat swamping and swarming up off the asphalt bathed Darcy's shins like a dry bath. Sophia and Carl held tightly onto her sweating palms, leading her through what would appear to feel like a maze of abandoned cars, the shirt Carol kindly helped her into sticking to her back uncomfortably.

"Carl!" Lori called, and Darcy felt her left hand jerk. "Always in my sight, okay?"

"Yes mum," Carl answered, and Darcy felt her lip curl into a snicker, her thoughts distracting her from the remainder of the conversation. Her thoughts dawdled, drifting around as Carl and Sophia chatter animatedly and place her hands in the cabs of cars, often describing what she held delicately in her grasp. It must have been half an hour before she came out of her half-minded reverie, hurried gasps and hushing sounds reaching her ears, where she must have wandered away from the group slowly.

Darcy'd perked her head up, fruitlessly searching the black fog for an answer to the silence, when a hot pair of hands came down on her arms and gripped them tightly, warm breath dusting her neck.

"There's walkers comin' and we can' take 'em. I'm gonna put you in the back of this truck and cover ya' with a tarp. Don' move," the gruff voice of Daryl rasped, before she tensed and she was roughly manhandled into the bed of what must've been the truck she was checking out. The rattle of tarp shook in her ears before her mind pictured the world tinting blue, a scorn making its way onto her face before twisting into distaste and light panic when the shaking moans of the stumbling dead shuffled past her spot, coming thick and fast.

She didn't know how long she lay there, the thin tarp the only thing between the coherent corpses and her tensed and guarded form, laced with the unconscious side-effects of her career, and a standard issue Beretta with two full clips shoved hastily in her jeans. It had gone eerily silent, the blood rushing through her ears her only company. They've gone, she thought, I knew they bloody would -a blind member would only drag their group into the clutches of the rotting corpses. They're probably laughing at me right now, driving away from this Hells Parking Lot. Fucking knew it.

She was interrupted from her cynical, pessimistic and arbitrarily psychotic musings by the rustle of the tarp and the baking voice of Daryl.

"Havin' fun in there?" He asked, smirking down at her, sprawled in the bed of the truck. The bloody locks swirled around and the sharp pair of unfocused eyes, in the most precious shade of green, blazed in his direction. He let the smirk drop and gripped her arm, avoiding the bruising and hauling her upright. "Need you ta' help me with T. Idiot cut himself on some metal, he's bleedin' pretty fucking bad," he admitted, taking less of her weight than expected as she gingerly hopped from the truck, relishing in the feeling of asphalt.

"Where are you, T-Dog?" She asked, facing just to the mans left.

"Over here, Agent," his weakened voice sounded, and Darcy boldly moved towards him, going in the right direction, to Daryl's surprise. The woman reached T-Dog and Daryl moved to support the man on his right, leaving Darcy, stupidly, to attempt to help guide the man in a place she not only couldn't see, but on the side T-Dog was injured on. Darcy lightly moved her hands up his forearm, ghosting over skin and hovering over where she felt sticky wet heat.

"There?" She asked, and T muttered in confirmation. The agent then proceeded to grip his arm tightly above the cut, and as far as Daryl could see, being the only one with full sight and awareness, slowly staunched the bleeding with what must have been terrifying pressure on T's end.

After Darcy and Daryl had sat T-Dog down on the step of the RV, the air of panic washed over Darcy, hurried talking and soft shuddering sobs wracking through the airs. Darcy's ponytail flew up and the empty green eyes flitted around the group, finally landing on Lori and Carol, the latter comforting the sobbing mother.

"What happened?" She asked, clear accent chiming through the thick warm air like a shot of ice water. The pitiful sobbing increased, and the unfamiliar trickle of worry ran down Darcy's spine.

"Sophia went to get out of her car early and a pair of walkers saw her. She ran into the forest, Rick's looking for her now," Shane spoke up, forgetting his little tiff about her hindering the group. Carol's wailing wavered, before dimming down and fading with light footsteps.

"Might I ask why no one else is looking?" Darcy asked, rising from her place next to T-Dog and moving into the direct sunlight. A rough sigh from Shane indicated that he'd remembered who she was and why he didn't like her, and a small murmur of agreement came from Lori and Dale.

"She's right, we should all be out looking," Lori exclaimed, and a small movement to Darcy's left gave the impression that Carl was with his mother and had moved to stand with Darcy. To prove he theory, a small hand grasped her own and held it closely, somehow drawing comfort out of the odd contact with the weathered, worn and broken adult he'd met yesterday under duress, grief and interrogation.

"We'll wait for Rick to come back with her, it's a bad idea to split up, especially after that herd came through," Shane answered, tiredness tangling into his words.

"So we're just gonna leave him to find her himself?" Dale asked incredulously, his tone of voice grating inside Darcy's head.

"Man, you gotta fix that RV to get us outta here, and I'm sure Rick'll be back with us soon, with the little girl," Shane reassured, and a small feeling of consent washed over the group, the heat beating down on the back of their necks.

Hours had passed since Rick hadn't brought Sophia back with him, and despite having such fiery inner turmoil, Darcy found herself missing the soft words and caring guidance the minute girl offered. Carl had shadowed her most the day, after Darcy reassured his mother that she was armed and would remain close by in the case of danger, the boy jabbering away with open-minded childlike and bright optimistic tones.

Darcy, having been carefully trained and highly experienced in the field, knew Carl was worried. He was worried to the point that any other child would be howling in a corner with the paint peeling off the shabby walls and hissing like a terrified cat, but instead, the young boy was wandering around, searching cars and chattering away about things his friends and himself got up to at school. The agent had to commend him for this, dealing with something of this magnitude in these rather peculiar circumstances was a weighing thing indeed.

"Do you think they'll find her?" Carl asks suddenly, his voice just next to her left ear. Darcy kept her face neutral and calm, continuing to rummage through the backseat of what Carl described as a dark purple sedan, large scratches taking paint off one side in claw-like streaks.

"I think they will, we just have to give them time. And you?" She replied, keeping the conversation away from anything morbid that might slip from her bloody mind.

"Daryl'll find her. He's a hunter," Carl confirmed, Darcy imagined him nodding. With a lull evident in their conversation, she scrabbled for a silence filler.

"Uh... What do you look like?" She asks, genuine interest peaking it's large eyes. Her brain scoffed at the pathetic wording and how hopelessly pitiful she sounded.

"Well, I have brown hair, mum cut it not long ago, and brown eyes... people say I look more like my mum than my dad," he says, and Darcy allowed a small smirk to perk on her lips.

"Well it would appear that I don't know what they look like either," she answered, and Carl sniggered.

"Mum has brown hair and brown eyes... her hair is really long and wavy. Dad has curly light brown hair and blue eyes, like me, but he always wears his Sheriffs hat," the boy explains, in the placid and flat adjectives of a twelve-year-old.

"Well Carl. Why do you not tell me what everyone else looks like, just to pass the time -there's only so many silent intellectual brain games one can play while rummaging through abandoned cars on a searing highway," Darcy grinned, and Carl launched into a spiel about the other members of the surviving group.


	4. Chapter Three

"Where were you

when everything was falling apart?"

The drenching heat of day had lowered it's guard and allowed the seeping mass of cold dark cover the highway. From the air, the agent gathered it was bordering dusk, and the search party should be back momentarily. The day had primarily been filled with T-Dog keeping watch, and resting as the wound on his arm was steadily growing infected, from what Darcy had been able to gather from the reluctant man, and Dale taking Darcy in the other direction to scavenge from cars.

Once more, Darcy had been lead around and described the immediate surrounding, only this time with far more articulate language. Dale was a natural philosopher and delighted in regaling her with tales of his life just before the troubles started and some of the life at the quarry Carl had neglected to mention.

He also was interested, rather avidly, to Darcy's amusement, about her career with MI-5, asking a wide range of questions from personal to political. Darcy wasn't much of a talker, though when she was given the right topic in the right company, she could be a very curious and well informed conversationalist. Her biggest asset was the ability to worm her way under your skin, and force you to deal over the information she wanted -whether it be through gentle persuasion, violence or threats, she could usually deliver.

She had thought the job skills might have numbed her to the significant torture involved, seven out of ten of her cases, but when it came to holding out through the situations herself, she broke, holding it in. Like fixing a shattered mirror with cello tape, afterwards she was distorted, with triggers, conditions and vengeance fueled anger.

Dale was kind, patient and exactly the kind of person Darcy found doused the fire to embers in her core. He listened, but would speak up when he detected reluctance towards the conversations path. Darcy found she liked Dale, although he was extremely different to her in many ways, it was a calming kind of therapy for her, and after adamantly refusing therapy after her stint, letting out the bottled anger placidly in short answers to Dale was better than sitting in a room smelling of lavender and listening to someone who thinks they can find her secrets and unlock them.

"Ah, Agent Darcy!" Dale called, from his spot next to T-Dog, who was groaning in pain. Darcy turned, a small breeze cooling her off, no more than the bottled water had done.

"Just Darcy, Dale, or might I begin calling you Mr Horvath?" She responded, meandering over to where she knew the RV stood.

"But when and who else am I ever going to get to call 'Agent' ever again? Let an old man have his fun," Dale says and Darcy snickered, the ever-childish side of her brain activating with Dale's statement. T-Dog, heavily drugged on as many off-the-shelf Nurofen he could handle, gave a giggle and Dale snorted despite himself.

"So, anything I can do for you, Dale?" Darcy asked, coming out of her recollective thoughts. The old man cleared his throat and pulled her into the shade the RV offered, Darcy no longer jumping at his unexpected touch.

"T-Dog reminded me where I had heard of MI-5," Dale smartly answered. Darcy prepared herself for the onslaught of comparisons.

"And where might that be?"

"The television show, MI-5. It's stopped airing though," Dale trailed off, and Darcy could help the miniature grin that tugged at her lips.

"Frankly, Dale, everything has stopped airing -even Emmerdale, which never seemed to stop airing," Darcy told him, and he let out a snort,

"Yes, but the show, MI-5, it's British, surely you've seen it?" Dale asked, and Darcy quirked an eyebrow.

"Naturally. But we call it Spooks -you American's get the lower-grade name." Dale laughed in response, but was cut off but the tramping arrival of the search party.

"You didn't find her? Where's Lori?" Dale asked in a flurry, leaving Darcy, who was leery of walking back over the near familiar path with moving obstacles.

"Climb down outta my ass, old man," Daryl growled, "Some chick on a horse come and took her."

"And you let her?" Dale asked, horrified. Darcy felt a body brush past her, and a slight burn of someone eyeballing her touch across her shoulders and face.

"I don't know, some chick like Zorro on a horse came and picked her up. Said Carl's been shot, and we can go to their farm," Glenn muttered, and as he came past, the body heat of the rest of the search party (not smelling the best either) flooded past her like ducklings after their mother.

"So who's gonna go to the farm tonight, we should probably meet up with the others a soon as we can, being split like this isn't wise," Glenn says, and Darcy leans against the baking hood of the car behind her.

"If the RV's staying, so am I," Dale declares, followed by Andrea, who sounded positively drained by it all.

"I will too," Glenn adds, to be countered by Dale.

"No, you need to take T-Dog to that farm and get him some medical treatment, he's gone bad to worse and the stitches Darcy put in are only doing so much," Dale answered, and Darcy cringed. Stitching up any wound blind with someone else as your eyes is a terrible thing, particularly if you have no standing anger or conundrum against the person, per say T-Dog, who's arm would look some great deal like Frankenstein if Darcy knew her needle work well enough with sight.

"Why didn't you say so?" Daryl asked, and after flinging some cloth over Darcy's shoulder, began tossing rattly containers past her. "Got some kickass painkillers," he rummaged more, muttering something about not needing Crystal or Ex. "Doxycycline. That ain't the generic stuff either, that's first class," he muttered, before the rustle of plastic bag dims and a presence came to stand by her shoulder.

"Glenn, you take Carol's Cherokee, T-Dog and Agent Darcy to the farm. The rest of us can follow you tomorrow -give us another twelve hours of searching. Heaven forbid the little girl comes back and we're not here," Dale instructs, to Glenn's complaints.

"We can make a sign," Daryl muttered from beside her, but Darcy was turning Dale's words over in her head. She was right -she was with them out of pity only -she couldn't do anything beneficial except dig through supplies with someone at her shoulder, making sure she was getting stalked by a corpse.

"We found paint today actually," T-Dog says, ditzily, but nonetheless coherent. "We'll do the sign tonight, Glenn, take what you'll need for the night, I'll help T-Dog and Agent Darcy," Dale says, before Carol steps up.

"I'll help Darcy, might help to keep my mind off it," the elder woman said shakily, her voice quavering with a terrible loss.

"Wait, why's Agent goin' to the farm?" Daryl piped up from next to her, and Darcy, who had been about to voice her own suspicions clicked her jaw shut and nodded. Dale sighed, sympathy underlying his tone.

"No offense meant to Darcy, but she is blind and getting her to a safe place is probably the wiser step to take," Dale muttered, and Darcy curtly nodded, thinking over her position in the group -the charity case.

After Daryl had grunted and tightly clasped her forearm in his rough, weathered palm and pulled her to Carol's car, which she was then unceremoniously bundled into, Glenn and T-Dog set off for the farm, arriving just as the last light drained from the sky like a bath plug being pulled, according to Glenn.

She scrabbled to ping the handle of the door and find fresh air and grass, her hands uselessly pawing at the door for a moment before she managed to push the door open and follow Glenn and T out into the cold air. The grass buckled under her boots and chilling damp air washed over her, a soft wind ruffling her coppery hair.

While Darcy was standing next to the car, happily breathing in the cold air, Glenn and T-Dog went into the front room so T could play patient with the owner of the farms assistant, Patricia.

"I'd say Merle Dixon's clap was the best thing that ever happened to you," Patricia says, giving T-Dog a look. Maggie and Glenn sniggered at the jab and settled in the spots by the door. "And this messy stitching, that did a good lot of help too, even if a two year old can do better," Patricia says, pressing gauze onto the new stitches and taping it down.

"That was our friend, Darcy, Ma'am. She's outside," T-Dog mutters, and Glenn's eyes went wide.

"Somethin' wrong?" Maggie asked, watching the Asian's reaction to the mention of their friends name with amusement.

"Shit, Darcy's outside," Glenn cursed and Maggie's eyebrows raised along with Patricia as Glenn essentially ran outside.

"We don't mind if your dog craps on our lawn, but clean it up please," Patricia yelled after the boy, twisting to watch through the window as Glenn met a girl who turned to stare at him when he was just leaving the porch. Her silhouette was slim, and poised, like she was ready to run or pounce at a moments notice. Maggie's amusement turned to curiosity and worry as Glenn held her arm and towed the new girl into the house.

"Is your friend okay?" Maggie asked. "Does my dad need to see her?" T-Dog shrugged.

"It's probably a good idea. Met her just a couple days ago, in an abandoned nursing home while we were leaving Atlanta and needed a place to sleep. She was beaten pretty bad -bad enough to-"

"Will she be a danger to us?" Patricia asked, preparing some basic aide for the girl.

"No, if you introduce yourselves and I'm here she shouldn't be too bad. Quite fun to talk to," T dismissed. Glenn and Darcy entered the room bluntly then, the agent slamming the side of her knee into the door frame and cussing in pain. Glenn flushed, but merely tugged her into the chair Patricia was sitting next to.

"Name's Patricia, and I'm going to check you over. You friend said you were beaten? Where?" The elderly woman bombards, leaving Darcy to shift her gaze to where she thinks the voice is.

"Agent Darcy Brelle. And I'm fine, no matter what T-Dog and Glenn have to say," she dismissed with a sniff.

"Fine, but you come to me the minute you think something's wrong." Darcy was saved by Rick and Lori, who although looked flustered, looked better, with the arrival of a pair of headlights outside.

Maggie sat with Glenn outside on the large porch, both nursing cups of hot chocolate.

"You friend, Agent Darcy, are you sure she's alright... she seems rather dangerous," Maggie warily nodded to the woman who had sat in the grass fifty meters from them and was looking out over to the thicket of trees.

"She's fine if she says she is. Best to leave her be until she need's help," At Maggie's look Glenn elaborated, feeling guilty at spilling someone else's troubles to strangers. "She wouldn't harm you if you took a walk alone and she had a sniper rifle. She's completely blind and still getting used to it. I'm thinking of finding a cane for her when I go on a run," he mused, and Maggie's face painted shock.

"Blind? Solid, black blind?"

"Yep. She couldn't see me if I was about to kiss her," Glenn confirmed. "Not that I- well- I mean, I-"


End file.
